Everything In Time
by Ravenschild
Summary: A Psi factor story – new arc, au (assuming that Curtis died in Russia and not Connor), Connor/Peter. Slash On the trail of a vicious cult Peter and Conner finally see each other.


**_O.S.I.R. Mobile lab – Central Boston._**

****"So, what do we know?" Case Manager Connor Doyle folded his legs and looked at his team in turn around the table.

"According to background checks," Lindsay opened her folder and scanned the documents, her golden hair framing her face as she tucked wayward strands behind her ear, "local police have uncovered the bodies of seven young men in the greater Boston area."

"Why call us?" Peter Axon frowned as he leaned into the table.

"According to my sources on the homicide squad, there were disturbing marks on the bodies along with a toxin that their lab could not identify." Ray Donohue spoke as he entered the conference room and pulled out a chair. The former cop hated unsolved murders and he resented all the unsaid implications in the reports in his hands.

"Yes, but, We" Peter continued. "are not a violent crimes task force and surely this matter would be better handled by the FBI."

"Agreed, however," Connor headed off the flow of dissention before it had a chance to grow into full blown rebellion. "the marks that were found on the bodies, along with the toxin in their systems, indicates the working's of a sacrificial cult within the area. And that makes it our business." He paused before continuing, seeing the increasing tension in Axon. Doyle made a mental note of asking him about it privately. "We've been called in as backup by the local PD. Anton is evaluating the crime scene reports and the toxin has been sent to central lab for analysis. In the meantime, Lindsay, I want a complete background check on the identified victims along with reports of their activities for the forty-eight hours before they died. I want to know where they went, who they saw, and what common denominator, if any, ties them together."

"I have some of that now." Lindsay pointed the remote to the large wall screen in the onsite conference room and flipped the switch. Seven faces swam into view, all of them dark-haired, mid to late thirties, and good looking. Axon visibly paled.

"Ah, Connor…they all look like you," Donohue intoned.

"Yeah, frightening," Peter answered; and, before anyone could object to the flippant statement, they all saw the tension in his body pull tighter.

"Apart from a physical aspect, what else do they have in common?" Connor asked, the thought disturbing him more than he was prepared to admit at this moment.

"They are all well educated, come from society or well placed families, all single, and all gay."

"Which indicates this cult could be working within either the gay or society circles. See which of them they moved in, look for a common link – a person or place that they may have in common," Connor advised.

"Check email logs," Peter added and Lindsay turned to him.

"Say what?"

"A lot of the groups or subcultures run boards or groups. They may be members of the same list or subculture."

"I am not even going to ask how you know that." Lindsay smiled as she leaned back.

"Probably wise." Peter's voice was soft as he looked back down at the page. "Preliminary reports indicate the toxin is plant based and ingested. Anton and Claire are working on the full report now. With luck, the supply will also be specific. However, it appears to dissipate within forty-eight hours of death; the last victim was found just in time for the samples and swabs to be taken."

"Good, so we have a couple of leads." Connor nodded.

"There is something else." Donohue was grave as he looked around the room.

"And that is?" Lindsay prompted.

"Local PD says the bodies were all found in a similar area and there was evidence of sexual abuse."

"You mean they had sex," Peter corrected.

"No, systematic sexual abuse."

"What?" Connor came back to the table and frowned as he took the documents.

"Most of the abuse occurred, according to the coroner, whilst they were alive," Ray continued. Connor paled in shock as he read the reports and handed them to Peter. Anton took that moment to enter the room, a large file under his arm, complete with crime scene photos and a detailed coroner's report.

"I see Ray has already appraised you," Anton said, coolly professional. Not a lot bothered him, however abuse on this scale set his teeth on edge. "Not pleasant, and the FBI people concur this is the work of a cult of some kind. The medical report is almost identical in each case. External genitalia showed extensive contusions, hematomas, and edema consistent with repeated battering. Each victim suffered extensive rectal lacerations; these lacerations were caused by multiple insertions with sharpened instruments. Each of the victims' prostate glands was torn and lacerated, again apparently by the insertion of a knife or sharpened object. There was considerable tearing of the anal sphincters; it is unknown if the implements used to sodomize the victims were the causative agents at this time or if the many rapes caused the damage. There was no evidence of lubricating substances found in any of the victims. DNA analysis of the semen taken from the victims indicated there were 11 assailants. The DNA is being run through the national database now. The victims would have likely been conscious throughout the ordeal. Once the rapes were over and the body had been impaled, each victim was bound and their testicles were excised from the scrotal sac. There was no attempt to stop the bleeding; cause of death in each case was exsanguination. Oh…and while the victims were slowly bleeding to death…their penises were cut and branded."

"Jesus Christ!" Peter exclaimed as Lindsey bolted from the room, her face white, and the faint sounds of retching could be heard as she barely got the bathroom door closed in time. "I'll go check on her." Peter headed towards the bathroom and left Anton and Connor alone with Donohue.

"Okay, analysis?" Connor called the room back to order.

"They are sick freaks," Ray said, clearly disgusted.

"Apart from that." Connor smiled gently.

"I've sent the crime documents over to the profilers in the FBI and at Central Lab. See if they can come up with something within the databases. The consensus of the local police seems to be spot-on. Ray, if you could ask them for the known cults and anything new or underground we may get somewhere," Anton concluded.

"I doubt you'll find them." Peter entered into the room.

"You sound sure." Ray scowled.

"Just a hunch." Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Lindsay is okay, she's gone to get some air."

"I'll go check her over." Anton got up and left the room.

"Ray, we need that police information as soon as possible please," Connor asked and watched the big ex-cop stand up and take another look at Peter.

The gray head was bent, his fingers toying idly with the pencil on the table as he resolutely refused to look at either man.

"I'll close the door," Ray said as he left the two men alone.

"So, I am assuming there is something you want to tell me," Connor prodded gently, aware of the discomfit and turmoil in his best friend.

"Nothing that you'd want to hear," Peter mumbled and wiped a hand across his face. Connor noticed the fine tremor in his hand and the pallor of his skin against the black leather watchband.

"All right then." Connor stood up and motioned for Peter to walk with him.

"Where are we going?"

"You look fit to pass out, Peter; and whatever it is that is eating at you, I think it might be better if you tell me over a drink."

"By drink I'm assuming you mean alcoholic?" Peter asked hopefully.

"It's not eleven a.m. yet and we are still on duty, so that would be a no. Why do you think you'll need a drink?"

"No, actually, I think you will."

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

"So out with it." Connor finally prodded Peter with his foot under the table. Their coffees arrived and the room was dark and afforded them some comfortable privacy in the little café just off the main street.

"You remember I worked for a time with the CDC and that meant, in turn, I worked with the FBI on some cases."

"I know."

"A lot of the information we have is reminiscent of a case that I worked on. There was no media coverage at the time and to the best of my knowledge the matter remains open."

"Okay, so why do you look like you're going to throw up?"

"I can give you some information, Connor, and you can triple check it if you want, but don't ask me how I know." Peter's eyes were haunted.

"You know I can't do that. If you have information that can put these perverts behind bars, then I think you should tell me what it is."

"Is that your final answer?" Peter pushed the chair back.

"Officially?"

"Don't fucking play games with me, Doyle! I'll tell you what I know, but don't ask how I know it. Sounds fair to me."

"What are you hiding?" Connor leaned forward and placed a hand on Peter's arm. Axon recoiled as if stung and looked up into pained, dark eyes.

"I told you, you don't want to know."

"Yes, so you've said. So, what can you tell me?" Connor sipped the coffee and burned his lip on the cup.

"There's a bar, not far from here. It's mostly a biker hangout, but a few years back we got word that there was a new biker group in town that had rather eclectic tastes."

"Go on."

"Thirteen men traveled together; another, who was their leader, joined a few days later, so making fourteen in total."

"A Coven?"

"They called themselves the Knights of THOTH."

"The Hermetic Order of the Knights Templar? They were a fairly innocuous lot back in the mid sixties. Used to use Alistair Crowley's teachings as the basis for orgies. To my knowledge they never got into blood sacrifice."

"Yeah, well, the Knights under the leadership of Nathan Denisoff had other ideas. They decided that after the sacrifice was successfully prepared they would let his blood and offer the chalice up for the acolytes to drink from."

"So true blood sacrifice then? And the branding?"

"I haven't seen the photos; but if it is the same coven, or a copy of the same coven, then it will be a rather crude _all seeing eye_."

"Yes, it is." Connor looked up.

"The FBI agent assigned to the case went undercover. Like you, he bore a resemblance to the men murdered. They found his body nearly a week later."

"So why pick the same profile and personality types?"

"Because they believe that they are taking men who, in their eyes, are perfect and pure. Breaking and destroying the victims puts them in a better position with their God."

"Ahuh. Okay, well, then I'll call Quantico and see if I can get a copy of the files. Maybe we can find something out. But if they knew the name of the cult and the leader, why didn't they arrest the lot of them?"

"Not enough evidence. Even back then there was no law against cults or groups of like-minded individuals coming together. They could be killing chickens for all the FBI cared. It wasn't until they lost one of their own that they sat up and took notice. Homophobia was still rife and because of that there was no media coverage. It wasn't exactly a vote winner."

"Point taken. I'll get what files I can. Just tell me – am I likely to be reading your name in them anywhere?"

"I doubt it, other than CDC liaison."

"You think this biker group is back in town?"

"Yes. And I think they are currently looking for another victim. They will kill weekly till the solstice and then they'll go on the road again. They pick a different city each year but seem to have a pattern."

"Because they've come back to Boston?"

"Yeah, it's been nine years; their movements would have been in the files. Maybe check them out with homicide in each area around the same time of the year. I'm sure Lindsay can find a pattern."

"Good plan. Does the bar have a name?"

"Leather's."

"That's not a gay bar."

"No, it's not; I told you it's a biker bar. A lot of the bikers are in same sex relationships. Leather's caters for the middle ground, lot of regular guys go in just to play pool."

"You've been there then?"

"Couple of times."

"So, I'm asking as a friend why you were so concerned about telling me this."

"Just makes me nervous."

"What?"

"Lots of things." Peter shrugged. "Besides, you said you wouldn't ask. Let's just leave it at I want them to go down."

"Good enough for me."

"I'm expecting lab results to be in. I'd like to take a look at them before I go home." Peter stood and left. Connor ordered another coffee and frowned.

He'd known Axon for nearly eight years, depended on his expertise in the field, on his quick wit and unswerving loyalty, if not to the OSIR then to him. For his friend to be so closed to him was unnerving. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his teeth, as Ray would say, itched. There was something horribly wrong with all of this; gruesome murders aside. He just wondered if Peter would eventually tell him before it was too late.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Head down, fists dug deep into pockets and, despite the warm air, he shivered. He found himself in a small park, not far from the cemetery. It had been years since he'd stopped visiting the grave. Years before he felt he could move on, move beyond the pain of betrayal and guilt. Walking on into the cemetery, he stopped a few inches short of the headstone.

Simple, elegant, and a lonely testament to the life of a man who did not deserve to die. Tears welled in Peter's eyes as he sat down on the grass and dug one hand into the thick turf. Long minutes passed as he let his grief take him before he looked up at the headstone and read the inscription.

Nicholas James Carter

Beloved son and friend.

Died in the line of duty.

December 8, 1982

His fingers slowly traced the black script and he stood, brushing grass from his jeans, and wandered back to the lab.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Connor liked the dark, especially when he was brooding, and for the last four hours he had done little else. The FBI special liaison was due on site in the morning and Peter had already left the lab. His report was perfect down to the last italic and neatly presented in its folder like a requiem to his discomfort. Connor knew that life was about to change. The question was, was he able to withstand the changes and did he want to?

He rubbed the back of his neck and tucked the reports under his arm, deciding to read them at home. Keen hearing and a sense that he was being watched proved true as he saw the light on in Anton's room, and he decided he wanted to talk after all.

"Ah, I see you're working late too." Connor smiled and Anton looked up.

"I got the fax from the agencies in the southwest, seems the original hypothesis was correct. This group was in residence in all locations on or around the time a person was killed. Good call, Connor."

"Actually it wasn't my call, it was Peter's." Connor sat down opposite the over burdened desk and Anton slipped his glasses from his face, aware of the uncomfortable silence.

"Keen mind. Actually, I think Ray has a grudging respect for him, muttered something about him being a good cop." Anton tried for levity and it fell flat in the face of Connor's concern. The elderly psychiatrist stood and poured two coffees from the ever-filled carafe and sat back down.

"I had coffee with Peter this morning, down by the Bay."

"I take it that it didn't go well."

"No, actually it went very well. Seems Peter has an inside track to this but won't tell me what it is. I'm worried about him."

"So am I," Anton admitted and Connor's head snapped up. "Ever since we saw the victim reports, he's been more withdrawn than normal, almost to the point of being openly hostile. Whilst Peter is a passionate man, this makes very little sense."

"Other than it's upsetting him personally."

"Yes, I got that as well. Mind you Peter is a physicist and not a forensic scientist, he's normally a bit squeamish around this kind of thing."

"To the point of being openly hostile?"

"All right, Connor, what's on your mind?"

"Nothing really, just a feeling."

"Yes, well, I know that look and I know you and Peter have been friends for years, so whatever is troubling you troubles me." Anton propped his feet on his desk and loosened his tie.

"It's nothing. I think this kind of perversion has us all spooked." Connor smiled again, this time it almost touched his eyes, and Anton tried a different tact. There was always more than one way to get a Case Manager to talk and Anton hadn't even begun yet.

"Probably. I really could do with Peter's analysis on some of the chemical compounds that were found at the crime scenes. We have a signature of sorts which could make this mess easier to deal with."

"I'm all for that." Connor stood. "I have a date with a hot shower and some light reading." Connor picked up his files and headed home.

Anton watched him go and frowned. He didn't like it when Doyle was off kilter; the people who were at the heart of this were dangerous, far too dangerous to be let run loose.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Jarrod Petrie was by comparison an old man in the unit. His techniques were at times out dated, his attitude bordered on overtly moral, but underneath he was a good man. For the last ten years he had tracked these Knights and found no evidence to tie them to the crimes. He knew in his gut though that they were guilty and he could understand their motives, their reasons. He couldn't condone them, of course, but nevertheless he understood and that made people feel creepy around him. The FBI put him back on the case and told him to liaise with the OSIR and the agents on site. He would have superiority but he would defer to Connor Doyle, ex-navy, current professor and Case Manager for the OSIR.

A shock of blond hair graying slightly at the temples, the jeans and T-shirt covered with a leather jacket that was his only concession to his position. Even then it was half-hearted and Connor smiled when he saw him.

"You must be Doyle." His accent was Brooklyn and there was no attempt to hide it.

"Special Agent Petrie." Connor extended his hand and saw the barely suppressed shudder.

"Jarrod is fine, the rest is something of a sore point at the moment. I see our little band of knights are on another crusade."

"Strange that they have come back to Boston after nine years. They never repeat an area at all. There is something going on within the ranks."

"You a profiler?" Jarrod asked, slightly surprised.

"No, psychologist. I read the files last night, what there was of them, and it would appear that there is a power shift, maybe a new regime."

"Surprised that the local PD called you guys in."

"Actually, so are we. This is not normally our brief, however, there is evidence of cult activities and we have investigated them before so we can provide insight. As far as the rest, it's basically lab work and chemical analysis. Our mobile lab is better equipped than the forensic teams and we are more attuned to looking for the needle."

"Good call in my book. The FBI have been sitting on their thumbs for too long over this one."

"Glad to know. So you'll be senior liaison?"

"Yeah, but protocol puts you in charge, just not in the field. We want to keep the civilians at arm's length." Jarrod's smile was easy, but behind the deep gray eyes was the haunted look of a man who had seen far too much.

"Considerate of the powers that be." Connor smiled and nearly ran headlong into Peter, who was studying Anton's files and making hastily scrawled notes in the margins as he barreled along the corridor.

"Peter?" Jarrod's smile was genuine and Peter stopped, barely breathing, before he drew back in on himself.

"Been a long time." Peter extended his hand and nodded.

"Yeah, so you changed agencies?"

"Didn't really have a choice, Jarrod. Besides, pay is better here." Peter smiled thinly.

"Sure." Jarrod read the situation perfectly and stepped back, aware that Doyle knew nothing of the past and nothing of the anguish in the man before him. Instead, he inclined his head and turned to follow Connor through the labs. "We will get them this time, Peter. Nicky was my partner too."

Peter nodded, dropped the files off to Anton's room, and collected his coat.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Connor sighed, the meeting had been long and arduous and Peter had been conspicuous by his absence. Doyle knew where he'd be, where he always went when he was troubled. The bar was small and off the beaten track, dark wood and dark interior, nothing cheerful except for the hockey on the small TV in the corner; and propped at the end of the bar Peter sat slumped, already well into his cups.

"You missed the meeting, Peter."

"I'm surprised you even noticed. Baselines are clear, tox screens are negative, a trained monkey could do that, Connor."

"So Lindsay was right, you've had another offer."

"You seem surprised; I get offers all the time."

"Yes, but normally you don't consider them; or if you do, you talk to me. Seems the communication has been missing around this one."

"Perhaps because it's something I've got to do on my own." Peter signaled the barkeeper for another beer and looked at Connor who declined.

"And this case has nothing to do with it?" Connor propped on the barstool and stared hard at the fatigue lines around the almost boyish face, realizing belatedly that Axon probably hadn't slept in some time.

"Maybe it's the straw."

"So let me just clarify this, you are considering resigning."

"No, actually it's the reason why I have resigned." Peter drained the bottle and swirled the last half inch in the bottom.

"What?" Connor couldn't hide his surprise as he stared hard at his friend.

"Frank should have the fax now."

"Fuck, Peter! When were you going to tell me?" Connor demanded angrily.

"When I thought it was any of your damned business." Peter rounded, the anger evident. He did not want to have this conversation, did not even want Connor to be here with him.

"I understand lack of job satisfaction, Peter, but you could have come to me. You cut me out of the loop and I can't protect you when you do that."

"Job satisfaction? That's only a part of the equation, Professor."

"What's the other part?" Connor gave in as the barkeeper brought the next round and ordered a scotch

"The other part, Professor, is personal." Peter was distant, emotionally cold, and it was something that made Doyle ache.

"Okay, I can't make you tell me, but you should talk to someone." Doyle kept his posture and his voice passive, aware of the inner turmoil in both of them.

"No point; every one has his own demons, Connor. Maybe this is all I have left."

"Peter?"

"No, you don't need to be here. You have a job you enjoy and you don't have to worry about a disgruntled colleague. I suggest you go back to the lab, Connor; make a difference." Peter waved his hand at him dismissively.

"I thought we were friends, Peter; that gives me the right to be concerned about you."

"No, it doesn't. And don't delude yourself, people like me have no friends. Go away, Connor."

"All right then, you're still on the clock so I expect you back in an hour, if you can manage it." Sarcasm and barely concealed rage spilled from Doyle as he all but spat the order out.

"Not on the clock; check the fax, Connor. My resignation's already gone through to Frank. I'm not your problem anymore; there are people out there who need you to worry about them. I don't."

"Such as?" Connor recognized the shock that staggered through his body and reeled slightly from it.

"Lindsay needs you to make it through this," Peter answered with something akin to distaste. Doyle squared his shoulders and stood up, enough was enough and right now he didn't need this and he sure as hell didn't want to own this particular problem.

"Well, until Frank tells me otherwise, you are still on the clock so get the fuck up and walk or I'll carry you."

"Do you honestly think you can?" Peter lifted a brow over his beer.

"Want to put it to the test?" Connor asked with absolutely no humor.

"No, all right, but I have no idea why you need me on this."

"Maybe because you were there the last time this happened, and if you can stay sober long enough you can help stop it again."

"Maybe that's the problem, Connor. I really don't want to face this again."

"For the love of God, man, tell me what happened."

"You've got the files, Connor, nothing to tell."

"Bullshit! You are starting to piss me off, Axon. I know it was personal, and you don't want to discuss it, but Jesus! People are dying."

"You know nothing about it, Connor." There was true fear in Peter's eyes as he put the bottle down and pulled his jacket on.

"No, I don't, and you won't tell me; but I can promise you one thing."

"And that would be?"

"I will protect you as much as I can, Peter, but you need to tell me what happened."

"All right, I'll get no peace until I do." Axon led the way out the door; his pace slow and his mind focused on the past he thought he had buried.

"I'm listening," Connor prodded.

"The CDC were called in for the same reasons the OSIR was, the FBI had jack shit, nothing to go on. Knew who it was, couldn't prove it. The DA was all over us to make it go away and eventually one of the agents went undercover."

"Nicholas Carter."

"Yeah. Nicky fit the profile for the victims, same as you do." Peter ran his hand through his hair and continued, his steps slow and measured. "He went in and four days later, I found his body dumped like a piece of garbage in a back alley. Naked, bleeding, and tortured to death."

"I didn't know you found him."

"No, it's not in the report. What's also not in the report was that we were friends and I lost the plot."

"You had a breakdown?" Connor asked softly.

"I took sick leave from the CDC for nearly six months. I spent a little time in a facility and finally decided I couldn't go back to work. Old Willis had a soft spot for me so he kept my record clean, even got me onto the research project you were running. Gave me time to put my mind back together."

"I'm sorry, Peter. You should have told me earlier."

"Tell you what, that last time I came up against this I became unstable?"

"Well, maybe the truth would have been good."

"That's part of the reason I'm taking French leave and going back to teaching. I can't face this stuff, Connor. I don't want to – more importantly I don't want to lose it again."

"You won't; and, now that I know, I can keep you safe from it. I don't understand why you're so exhausted by all of this. There is no shame in being human, Peter."

"There's more to it, but I'm not going there now."

"Sure. Look, come back to work and we'll sort it out, okay?"

"I'll come back until Frank can find a replacement."

"Easier said than done, my friend."

"No one is irreplaceable, you should know that."

"I happen to think you are." Connor smiled softly and moved his hand to Peter's shoulder. "So what else wasn't in the files?"

"Nicky was gay."

"Ah, so is it possible he knew his killer and went willingly?"

"He wouldn't go willingly, Connor, he was in a relationship."

"So he left a lover behind. Okay maybe we can talk to him, was he investigated?"

"He was beyond reproach and had an alibi. Won't do you any good, talking to him."

"You sound sure."

"Very sure, Connor."

~~oooOOOooo~~~

"So, basically what you're telling me is that we've still got nothing?" Jarrod asked. He was not used to the round table approach, but found it comforting and understood now why Doyle's team was so close knit. Axon's eyes had dulled to a dark blue, almost reflecting the pain he felt in being in the room, and would not draw the other man's gaze. A fact, Jarrod was certain, that did not go unnoticed with Doyle, who was a shrewd observer.

"No. What I'm telling you, Jarrod, is that unless the DA wants to go ahead with a case that has no facts to tie the group to the murders, we don't have anything to get a warrant, let alone a conviction," Ray said as he closed the folder and frowned.

"That's not necessarily so," Anton added. "The lab reports have come back and we can tie at least one member of the group to the purchase of the narcotic substance used on the last victim. That, and the circumstantial evidence we have, could us get as far as a pre-trial, which means they may make a mistake in the interim."

"These people don't make mistakes." Peter's voice was soft and echoed in the room. They were the first words he had spoken in over two hours and all heads turned to regard him.

"Everyone makes mistakes," Anton answered kindly.

"Hey, don't take my word for it, Anton, ask Jarrod. He's been through this before. How many years have you been tracking them now? Seven? Eight?"

"Nearly ten, actually, and this is the closest I've come to tying an actual member to the murders. The background reports you've given us on the chemical composition have come back from the database at Quantico. We can tie Uebel to the purchase in at least eleven different locations over the past eight years. It's a start." Jarrod spoke directly to Peter.

"You heard Ray, it's not enough." Peter finally looked up and directly at the man opposite him. He felt pain lance through his heart. Firmly tramping down the feelings of hurt, he closed his eyes slowly and the cold face was back. "Take it to the DA and see what she says. The last thing I want," Peter stood up and gathered his notes, "is for them to get off on a double jeopardy plea. Having said that, the CDC are expecting my call to see if we can tie any more of this toxin in residual handling to the group."

"Bring them in for questioning and swab them? Is that possible?" Lindsey asked.

"We are developing a protocol for the test now. We should have it down within the day. Are we done?" Peter asked Connor directly.

"Yes, for the moment. In the meantime, Lindsey, keep digging on the paper trail, this group is funded somehow; if we can't pin the murders on them, try for something else, give us time to build the rest of the case. Ray, help her out on it."

"Good plan, at least it will get them off the streets."

"Might even save a couple of lives." Jarrod nodded and watched Peter shoulder his way through the door.

"Anton, Lindsey will handle all the normal stuff, we have contacts in various occult organizations around the country. See if they can come up with a whisper, or a connection we may have missed, as well as any background psychiatric histories we may have overlooked. Get Sims over at Central to put the call out."

"On it now." Anton was pleased to at least have a direction, so far five days without a break was grating on his nerves and he had slowly watched Axon unravel in front of him.

Once alone, Connor turned his considerable gaze on the FBI agent and, after a long uncomfortable silence for Jarrod, finally spoke.

"I've asked him and he won't tell me apart from basic details. I know Peter well enough to know that there is more. I strongly suspect that you know more than you're telling me as well."

"Peter's personal life and past are his own to divulge, Connor; not my place."

"I understand professional ethics, Jarrod, I wrote the book on protocol. Nevertheless Peter is my friend, one of a very few, and I value him highly. If there is something I'm missing which puts him or his wellbeing at risk and you could have prevented it, I will take it personally." Connor stood up. "Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Jarrod answered.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

"Did it work?" Jarrod leaned against the lab door and watched as Peter made notes on a white board.

"Yes, we have a swab that we can use which will pick up traces of the toxin up to twelve weeks old. It leaves a signature on the skin that is similar to a bloodstain. I'm working on applying it to fabric as well; might be able to link their bikes in as well."

"Excellent, I'll brief a team and arrange to have them picked up."

"I thought Connor was running the investigation."

"He is, but we have a break, Peter. I don't want to lose the window of opportunity."

"Move too fast and you'll spook them."

"I know." Jarrod finally perched on the side of the bench and regarded his old friend.

"Don't say it," Peter warned softly.

"Someone has to. It wasn't your fault, Peter, you know that."

"Yes, of course of do." Peter rubbed his forehead.

"All this hiding, is it worth it?"

"Meaning?"

"Tell me about your life."

"With all due respect, Jarrod, it's none of your fucking business."

"Hey, don't pull that shit with me, Axon, I was there. You locked us out, remember? Your pain, your hurt, your guilt; well, we were there for you – where the hell were you?" Jarrod was up, pacing. "Hiding, running away from it. It was never your fault; you could not have stopped Nick any more than I could have. He did what he felt he needed to do."

"You didn't see him, Jarrod. The bastards butchered him like livestock."

"I saw, Peter; I was there at the autopsy."

"Yeah." Peter's hand shook as he turned his back away. "They raped him, Jarrod. Those animals raped him."

"I know, and none of us could protect him; how do you think we felt?"

"I don't know, I never bothered to ask." Peter regained his calm.

"No, you didn't. It wasn't enough we lost Nick. We lost you; and, by the looks of it, you're still lost."

"You have no idea!" Peter spat.

"I do, you know. Your boss, Doyle, read me the riot act. He's desperately trying to protect you, Peter. Funny thing is, he hasn't worked out who he's meant to be protecting you from."

"Get out."

"Yeah, good answer. Sooner or later you will have to tell him."

"Now." Peter turned back to the board, wiped the sweat from his face, and shuddered as the door closed. He would not fall apart now. He couldn't afford to. Everything would heal in time; that's what they had all said and he needed to believe it.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

"DA won't go for it, we need a pretext to pick them up otherwise we've got a no go. Need ideas," Jarrod said to Doyle.

"I'm not surprised. Janet is very cautious."

"Know her well, do you?" Jarrod found a smile and Doyle smirked back.

"We studied together for a little while. I read the case reports again on how Nick died. What I don't understand is, with all the back up he had, how they managed to get him out of the bar without you knowing?"

"They didn't. He left on his own. They made contact a day or so later and he went out solo."

"Foolish."

"Yeah, Peter was furious, so was the old man. We know he left under his own steam, and that he met up with two other men in a park. He walked some distance with them and got into the back of a van. We found the van dumped a few days later."

Connor regarded the man coolly. Peter's name seemed to work its way into far too many of their conversations lately. As if Jarrod was trying to warn him, or tell him something that eluded him.

"And Peter found his body," Connor supplied the rest.

"He took it badly, Doyle; you have no idea."

"He told me he had a breakdown, tell me the rest."

"I can't – not all of it. He withdrew from the assignment and went missing from the office for nearly two days; we thought maybe they got to him as well."

"Did they?"

"No, I went to the house and found him sitting in the corner of the bedroom. It was cold – the house had every window open, lights were out, he had nothing on but a towel and was shivering, too cold and too tired to cry." The pain that raced through Jarrod's face was telling and Connor allowed the other man to continue. "I did what I could, wrapped a blanket around him, made tea, warmed the place up. He was so far withdrawn I didn't think he'd ever come out of it. Afraid we'd lost him and afraid of what would happen when he finally emerged. It was the most heartbreaking thing I've ever had to see."

Connor found a lump forming in his heart. It pained him to know what Peter had gone through alone.

"Did you call his father?"

"Ray? Yeah, eventually, that's what the argument was. Best psych in the business, Doyle, and his father had to put him in care. Peter took it badly when he recovered and I don't think they've spoken since."

"They did a few months ago. We were up at BellIsland on a case. I didn't know that he'd been committed."

"Technically he wasn't. He'd lose his security clearance. He was treated for massive shock and hospitalized for a while with trauma counseling. I'm glad he spoke to Ray."

"Yes, it was still frosty but they seemed to manage. He's been back a couple of times since then so I guess they are doing okay."

"I nearly fell over when I saw you, by the way."

"Meaning?"

Jarrod reached into his pocket and withdrew a photo, small and worn as if it had been handled a lot over the years. "You might like to see this." He finally passed the small square over and Connor did a double take, three men, all rather drunk, a younger Peter, free of the haunted look, Jarrod clearly recognizable and another man who Connor thought for a second was himself. "That was Nick. Old Regis had finally got married and we were at the reception; man, we were so drunk I think we slept in the hall that night." Connor noted the interlocked arms around each other, hanging on for dear life and laughing hysterically, there was a peace and contentment about Peter, one that Connor was yet to see. And for a strange moment, he found that the loss of such innocence grieved him more than the brutal murders. Jarrod continued speaking softly and he was drawn back to the voice. "Peter lost everything when he found Nick's body, Connor. Don't be too harsh on him."

After a few seconds he handed the photo back.

"Keep it next to my babies."

"I didn't know you have children." Connor smiled.

"Three from two ex-wives and a Labrador. Nick was family, Connor; I want these bastards out of the way."

"I'm beginning to understand."

"I'm glad; don't let him run again. It would kill him, no matter what he says."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Excellent. I'll look in on Lindsay before I leave; see if she's got the loop we need to pick them up."

~~~oooOOOooo~~~~

Anton chewed the end of his glasses and looked at the profiles on the table again. Long fingers idly flipped pages as he studied the photos that lay scattered in an ordered mess and he squinted as Peter walked in.

"Connor said you wanted to see me." Axon looked tired, in fact he looked gray and Anton paled as he motioned the young man to a chair.

"Yes, I wanted your opinion on a few things. Are you all right?"

"No, not really." Came the bluntly honest reply and Anton studied the man. He hadn't expected this level of honesty and it shocked him.

"What's wrong?"

"Having problems sleeping, I guess."

"I can prescribe something for you, but it might be better if you told me what the problem is."

"Old memories, Anton; I doubt there is anything you can do."

"You want to give it a shot?"

"Sure." Peter sounded defeated as he got up and closed the door.

"What memory in particular?"

"I worked this case before, Anton; long time ago, and a whole lot of people had already died around the country. Probably in Canada as well, but our resources back then were not as good as they are now."

"Connor mentioned you'd run in with this cult before."

"Did he just?" Peter's demeanor took on an icy exterior before he continued. "What else did he tell you?"

"Not a thing, and I did ask. I'll admit to being concerned about you."

"Makes two of us, I guess. This is all off the record, right?"

"Of course."

Peter seemed pleased with the response and relaxed visibly in the chair. "I became good friends with the FBI agent assigned to the case. He was Jarrod's partner and when we met it was like we'd known each other our whole lives." Peter sounded wistful to the elderly doctor, an observation Anton kept to himself for the moment.

Anton smiled. "A lot like you and Connor."

"More, I guess. Nick and I argued over him being bait in the sting they were organizing and we didn't fully appreciate how these people operated. They didn't take the offer on the night of the operation. It was a couple of nights later when he got a call on his cell and he went off to meet them alone. He said it was just a meeting. He'd go back to the office when he was through and fill in the reports."

"So you spoke to him before he left?"

"Yeah, I was in the room and I asked him not to go. He told me I was being paranoid and that we probably scared them off last time due to the rather obvious presence we exuded." Peter smiled sourly. "I guess I knew he was walking into trouble, but I let him talk me out of calling Jarrod; and I told him that if he didn't check in within two hours, I was going to come looking. He was wearing a tracer, had the cell, and was armed."

"And then?"

"I guess I got no sleep, paced for what seemed like hours, tried the cell and finally got worried when he didn't call. I phoned Jarrod, who got a team onto it within fifteen minutes. It was too late; of course, we didn't know that at the time."

"But you guessed?"

"Call it a hunch or a feeling, but I knew it was all wrong. Finally, after almost three days, we lost trace of the cult. They moved on completely and without a trace. So we started trawling the areas we knew they moved in."

Peter's voice was soft, tears running freely down his face, and Anton's heart clenched in his chest. There was too much naked misery in the man before him to let him stop the cathartic recounting.

"You found him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, at first I didn't even recognize him as human. There was so much blood, and he was naked, covered in dirt and excrement. The smell was almost enough to make me vomit. I called in for backup and an ambulance. He was already dead, Anton. They'd beaten him till he couldn't stand, raped him till he couldn't walk, and then gutted him like a pig and left him to die. His body was cold and his eyes were closed, but I put my jacket over him and just held him. I guess it makes no sense to be cuddled up to a corpse." Peter laughed mirthlessly. "But I had to make him human again, Anton; they took all of that away from him and I had to make him human, do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, actually, I do, and it's a totally normal reaction. He was a close friend, Peter, and you did nothing wrong. Maybe it's time you stopped punishing yourself."

"Tell that to the nightmares." Peter dropped his head and wiped his face with shaking hands.

"Did you get counseling?"

"Yeah, I lost it, Anton. They even considered committing me at one stage. Instead, they put me on stress leave, treated me for trauma and shock, and I had some counseling. And I moved on. Left the CDC, left my friends, and ran away."

"Until now."

"Until now I felt safe."

"Ah, and now you don't because you have to confront these people again?"

"Maybe I'd made them into something unreal because I couldn't understand how men could do that to another for enjoyment."

"That's certainly true; in cases like these we often make them out to be something other than what they are just to get us through the investigation. Maybe if we believe that they have supernatural powers then there really was nothing we could have done."

Peter looked up.

"But it is time for you to stop believing that there is nothing you could have done and come back to believing that they won't defeat you."

"I don't know if I can go through it again."

"I know, and Connor is going to great pains to protect you. Maybe you need to lighten up on him a little bit."

"Meaning?"

"Resigning without telling him? Cutting him short when he tried to help?"

"No, he didn't want to help me, Anton, he wanted information; and what the Professor wants, he gets."

"I'll admit he likes to be in control and the only way he can be is to have all the facts at hand."

"I'm not a fact, Anton, I'm not a piece of a puzzle nor are my feelings. I was getting nothing but static from him, nothing real or tangible."

"And that he is a dead ringer for Nick doesn't help getting close to him either, does it?"

"I don't want to get close to him, I just don't want to be a bug under his microscope."

"You think he is treating you unfairly?"

"About as unfairly as I've treated him, I guess. I just need to sleep, Anton, but every time I do the ache is back. The pain doesn't go away. No matter what they tell you, it just doesn't go away."

And Anton knew in that moment that Nick had been so much more than a friend to Peter, and in that moment he also knew that Peter probably would never admit it.

"Okay, well, if you want a clinical assessment, which I doubt, I think you need to face the problem and deal with it. Nick is not haunting you, Peter; you're haunting yourself with 'what ifs'. In the short term, go and eat."

"Yeah, I'll grab a burger."

"I think you should grab Connor and have dinner with him. Then," Anton stood up, "I want you to take these." He put a small strip of pills in Peter's hand and perched on the edge of the desk. "And go to bed. No alcohol. Just food, hot shower and bed. It's only a temporary measure; but once you're back to being rational, we can deal with the rest."

"Thanks, Anton." Peter stood to leave.

"No stay there. I'll call Connor."

"I can do it on my own, Anton."

"I think you've been doing it on your own for far too long and that is half the problem."

"All right, I'm too tired to argue with you."

"And for that I am pleased."

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Connor nodded gravely as he spoke to Anton and received a list of instruction on the care and feeding of an emotionally drained physicist; all the while Peter sat passively in the chair and dozed.

"Peter?" Connor's hand was warm on his shoulder and for a moment Peter resisted the urge to wake up and lose the comforting touch.

"Sorry, must have dozed off."

"It's okay, you ready to go?" Instinctively, Connor knew to keep the steady pressure on his friend's shoulder.

Numbly, Peter could do no more than nod. His head ached; and, somewhere within the tiny core of his soul, he ached and wondered absently if it could be measured. If it were a real force that has form and volume; and if it could be measured, just where on the ache scale it would be. Eyes cast to the floor, he allowed himself to be guided up and propelled along the steel gray corridors and out into the night air. A cold frost rimed his face in seconds. He stopped, turning his eyes upwards and then away from the cold light the stars offered him, before he got into the car with Connor. It was a presence; an essence that kept him grounded. Without it, he knew that he could easily slip away.

Too long he'd hidden pieces of himself, cut parts away that simply hurt too much and decided to take them out at a later, more appropriate date. Which, of course, had never come; and now there were simply too many to deal with to allow any of them to touch him.

If he spoke to Anton, he would be told he was coping. Connor would be vaguely horrified and suggest he was withdrawing; and, in truth, he was. There was nothing more than the depth of despair that filled his waking days. The longing to be anywhere else, doing anything else without having to be reminded constantly of his own inabilities of saving and holding onto something that was truly precious. Axon shuffled over in the seat. He curled against the car door, his jacket pushed between his head and the glass as he closed his eyes against the scent of the man who kept him hovering in the real world.

Connor stole the occasional glance at his companion and worried. The ashen features marked by the starkly calm state concerned him more than he could remember. Maybe it was the feeling of total helplessness that invaded his soul and the desire. Oh, Gods, the desire to reach out and calm, to comfort, was too strong and he was drowning in the waves as they washed over him. Guilty pleasures, hidden secrets crept to the surface of his mind; and, for the first time in what seemed like an age, Connor felt. This enigmatic man who could be constantly restless, whose very existence bordered on chaotic movement, had stilled; and with it so too did the breath in Connor's lungs.

The car pulled up before a comfortable little house on the outskirts of the city. A well maintained garden surrounded the cheerful timber cottage and Connor switched off the engine, pulling bags and jackets out of the car before he gently opened the door on Peter's side. His somnambulant friend almost fell out, bar for the seat belt, and into Connor's arms. Gray stormy eyes blinked and confusion fell across the tired features.

"Sorry, went to sleep," Peter muttered and peered around.

"I think that's what Anton had in mind," Connor answered gently as he traced the tired face and stood back.

"Yeah, but I haven't taken the pills yet." Peter smiled sheepishly.

"Maybe it's just the company." Doyle laughed self-depreciatingly as he helped extricate Peter from the car.

"No, it's not the company. 'M sorry, Connor." Peter fought the urge to simply give in and, with what seemed like a mammoth effort, pushed himself up and leaned against the car. "Not my place." Peter frowned.

"No, I wasn't sure what you had at home and Anton wants you to eat and sleep. Since you're doing neither, the change in venue might help."

"Having company might help," Peter admitted as he ambled in behind his friend.

"Now that's the sanest thing I've heard you say in almost two weeks." Connor smiled. "You know where your room is; I'll start supper, okay?"

"Yeah." Peter squared his shoulders and peered upstairs, flicking the light on as he went past, and a smile suddenly bent his lips. "Hey, does this mean I get to have a bath?"

Laughter sounded from downstairs. "My housekeeper would prefer it," Connor yelled as he put the casserole in the oven and switched it to warm. Coffee was next ready for the morning and he banked the fire before putting out food for the cat that suddenly appeared at his ankles, purring madly.

Connor bent down and scratched behind an ear as the fluffy, gray blob devoured its meal.

"I only hope our houseguest is as hungry otherwise," Connor chatted to the cat, which totally failed to take any notice whatsoever. "Anton will skin me alive." With one last pat, he headed upstairs.

From the hallway, he heard the water running into the bathtub and caught the scent of lavender and sandalwood in the bathroom. Peter had found the bath salts his mother had sent him and he'd hidden, which meant Peter had been through the linen press and probably found his favorite battered, old, brown robe that was usually stashed at the back. For a second, he worried that other things he kept hidden in the linen press would be unearthed and shuddered at the thought before heading into the spare room and lighting the fire.

"Making yourself at home?" Connor called from the doorway to the bathroom as he watched Peter immerse himself into the steaming, hot water.

"Don't I always?" Peter answered with a sigh as the hot water soothed his muscles and found its way into his body, warming him in the coldest of places.

"Usually," Connor conceded. "You going to be okay in there or is there a likelihood you'll drown?"

"You wish."

"Not especially, can't afford flowers this week. Besides, again my housekeeper will kill me."

Peter found a laugh bubbled up from deep within his chest. "I'll be fine."

"And we all know what that means." Connor crossed his arms across his chest, taking a few moments to admire the heavy sculptured frame that sank in and out of the water before him.

"What what means?" Peter's eyes were open and locked with the embarrassed brown of his friend, Peter frowned, seeing something flicker in the normally controlled and urbane man.

Embarrassed at being caught out, Connor coughed lightly. "Fine – Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional."

"And that's the technical term for it?"

"Generally." Connor smiled. "You got everything you need? Towels, clothes?"

"Yeah, found them in the closet with your secret stash of comics."

"I do not read comics."

"Ah huh. Of course you don't, Professor, they are illustrated technical journals of a scientific experiment gone wrong. I mean really cutting edge stuff you biophysicists go for; man gets bitten by spider, man gets weird powers and crawls over buildings. I am amazed." Before he could continue the diatribe, he was hit in the face with a cold, wet wash cloth.

"If you're done with harassing me, dinner will be ready in twenty minutes; if you can stay awake that long," Connor called through the door, resting his forehead against the cool wood and willing his body to not recall so vividly Peter's naked body. It had been a long time and now probably wasn't the wisest moment to announce his desire for his friend. Instead, he focused on rebuilding what he had nearly lost and was grateful for the moment's respite in the storm of their lives.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~~

Gratefully, dinner had been a success and Peter rubbed his over-full belly as the cat leapt into his lap and he fed tiny scraps off his plate to her.

"You'll spoil her." Connor slipped his hands under the plates and rinsed them off before putting them in the dishwasher.

"Nah," Peter answered as he scratched the gray blob again, her purring soothing fraught nerves. "Besides one of us has to."

"Hey, she gets food to leave her fur wherever she wants. To have my entire attention and most of my bed. What more could she possibly want?" Connor rolled his eyes.

"Sounds like a perfect life if you're a cat." Peter chuckled as he dropped the animal back to the floor. "A name other than blob might go a long way toward appeasing her, Connor."

"Okay, pick one then 'cause I'm into Blob."

"Sheesh, you have no imagination." Peter looked down at the animal that was using his leg for claw practice. "How about Missy? Or even Shadow?"

"How about you sleep on it, unless, of course, you're still hungry." Connor came back to the table.

"No, you've managed to stuff me completely."

"You've lost weight."

"That explains the very long look you were taking in the bathroom." Peter narrowed his eyes and caught the faint hint of flush gracing Connor's face.

"I'm worried about you," Connor answered, simply deflecting the observation.

"Look, I'm sorry. I've been tense and hostile and I've taken it out on you and you really don't deserve it." Peter hunched forward.

"It's okay; would just help immensely if I knew what I was protecting you from."

"I guess maybe me," Peter mumbled.

"Yeah, well, there are more times than I can count when you are your own worst enemy. But you usually understand your motivations."

"Usually a few seconds too late."

"Usually. Jarrod thinks that you are running away again and that it would be detrimental to your health if we allowed that."

"He always was overprotective."

"I would think maybe he has had good reason."

"I forgot when Nick died that a lot of people other than me grieved, I also didn't realize my worth to them and thought, incorrectly it seems, that they wouldn't be hurt by my absence or miss me."

"You know differently now?"

"You cross examining me?"

"I'm not thick on the ground with friends, Peter, and for the last few years I've considered you as possibly my only friend. I can't afford to lose you."

"Something else I failed to consider in my self-loathing moments." Peter smiled and stretched back.

"Seems a lot of things got lost in the mix and luckily I'm not thin-skinned." Connor smiled and crossed his arms. "You want to discuss the case or do you want to take some time out?"

"Depends on what you want to talk about I guess."

"We need to get the cult members in, in order to put your test to the test."

"And you have nothing to go on?"

"Nothing."

"Okay, the whisper that did the round years ago was that they manufactured high quality methamphetamine and had several outlets they sold to on their travels."

"Which would give them a huge income."

"Considering they are selling mainly to the dance clubs and gay bars."

"So how do we use that? The knowledge isn't enough."

"No, it's not, but put someone inside Leather's and see if they want to make a sale."

"Risky. What if they take a different bite?"

"Hook them either way." Peter shrugged. "Talk to Jarrod – he's probably got a couple of agents who can make a connection."

"None that could fit their profile."

"I'm not liking where this is going."

"I know, but it makes sense."

"To make you bait? That would be almost like my worst nightmare coming true."

"It wouldn't happen without full backup and support, you know that."

"Nicky had full backup." Peter's voice was tired.

"I'm sorry; hey, look, grab some rest. I promise we'll use the option as our last resort. Besides, we are after a purchase for arrest, not to break the cult. The one can follow the other."

"Yeah, you got Anton's pills?" Peter stood up and wrapped the brown robe around his body and shivered involuntarily.

"Sure, go to bed. I'll bring them up."

"You promised, Connor."

"And I won't break that promise. Peter, I'm not Nick; I will be fine," Connor soothed gently as Peter walked away.

Hours later, Connor stopped by Peter's door, which had been left ajar, and listened to his friend's rhythmic breathing, relieved that at the very least he'd offered his friend some solace.

Finding his own would not happen on this night.

~~~oooOOOOooo~~~

"Connor," Lindsay called as she entered his office in the mobile lab.

"You got something?"

"Apart from coffee, no; but Peter might have, come on." She handed him the Styrofoam mug and lead the way down to the conference room.

Peter's fingers flew across the keyboard as the display popped up on the main conference screen. Completely engrossed, he heard the others come in but paid them no heed.

"What we have here is a chat board," Peter said as he answered the response. "Simon is running a diagnostic on it now, trying to pick up the IP address for one user."

"Which one?" Intrigued, Connor moved closer.

Amid the names that flashed across the screen were some tags that even made Connor blush. His eyes focused on the screen.

"Hang on, he's coming into private chat now." Peter frowned.

WhoreMaster: So, boy, ASL?

willingslave: 38, white male, Boston.

"ASL?" Lindsay asked.

"Age, sex, location," Peter mumbled.

"And you know this how?" Lindsay teased.

"You can be quiet and say nothing, or you can talk and blow my concentration," Peter snapped softly.

"Sorry."

WhoreMaster: So, boy, what do you want?

willingslave: To be a good slave for my master.

WhoreMaster: So you have a master already?

willingslave: Not yet. I'm new to Boston, sir.

WhoreMaster: But you are experienced? Or are you a worthless slut?

willingslave: I have some experience, sir; but a slave needs to be continuously trained, otherwise we don't know our place.

WhoreMaster: Indeed, perhaps you'd benefit from some time in my dungeon.

willingslave: I will do what you need, sir.

WhoreMaster: Sounds like you need training in how to be a good little slut.

willingslave: You'd break me in?

WhoreMaster: I'll break more than your body, you slut. I'll break your will.

willingslave: *shiver*

WhoreMaster: Do you have a partner, whore?

willingslave: No, sir; on my own.

WhoreMaster: Family?

willingslave: None that bother with me, master.

WhoreMaster: So are you working or can you take some holiday time?

willingslave: No, I'm on flexi time so I can get time off. If I'm to be your slut, sir, your needs are more than mine.

WhoreMaster: This is a good thing, you worthless whore. I need a boy that's willing to take some time. Have you ever been incarcerated?

willingslave: No, sir.

WhoreMaster: Collar you and teach you to be the dog you are.

willingslave: Will you teach me to beg for you, master?

WhoreMaster: A good dog needs to be beaten often, teach it the right way to behave.

willingslave: What will it take for you to teach me, sir?

WhoreMaster: Your willing submission to my every word and that of my associates, that you will sacrifice yourself on my word if I so desire it of you.

"Gotcha!" Peter smile was feral.

"Peter, I'm not even going to ask." Connor leaned forward, startled by the conversation he was witnessing.

"Probably a wise idea. This is code, Connor. Associates means he's into the crowd scene and it's more than a buddy. He's also asking for a willing sacrifice, which is a very non-subtle clue to people in the scene that he's into heavy BDSM."

"Okay, so how do you know he's the right one?"

"This particular chat club has very strict guidelines of usage and it takes a lot for a top to be able to offer. Simon and I hacked the database – the guy I'm chatting to is Denisoff."

"Way to go, Peter." Lindsay smiled.

"Yeah, well, let's see if he'll take the bait, shall we?" Peter didn't look up from the keyboard.

willingslave: What will it take to make me worthy of you, sir?

WhoreMaster: I want you to make out a contract, one that subjugates your will and body to my desires, bitch; and you will follow every clause in it.

willingslave: I need to worship your cock, sir.

WhoreMaster: I'm sending you my photo and profile; if you are as good as your word there is an address, come to it and be ready to stay.

willingslave: Thank you, master.

Peter logged off and checked his email and printed the contents.

"That's not Denisoff." Lindsay frowned.

"No, he'd never send his true photo – it's a ruse."

"Lindsay, get Jarrod to check out this address," Connor spoke and closed the door behind her. "You do this a lot?"

Peter shrugged. "I told Lindsay to check the boards; but she is too naive to know where to look, so I started trawling some of the more extreme places. Doesn't take long, it's a sub-culture that's not so deeply hidden. This tag came up a few times in emails to a couple of the last victims as well. Wasn't hard."

Peter got up and put his coat back on.

"You're not going." Connor frowned.

"Had  
no intentions of it; it's up to Jarrod now. Besides, he thinks I look like you."

"And why would he think that?" Connor folded his arms.

"Ah, because I used your photo in the profile." Peter tapped the side of Connor's face. "You, they'll believe; me, not a hope in hell."

Flabbergasted, Connor opened his mouth a couple of times before Lindsay came back in with Jarrod.

"The address is Leather's." Jarrod smiled.

"Thought it was," Peter answered, clearing the cache of his computer. "Question is, how bad you want them, Jarrod?"

"Not bad enough to put you undercover." Jarrod frowned.

"Look, you two really have no idea. The slave has the control, not the master, in normal situations. He'll behave exactly how he is supposed to; it would be a simple meet and greet. It could take a couple of days before he takes the matter to a more personal level, once he's assessed the situation. Either way, he'll more than likely make an offer if he is led correctly. That will allow you to get at least an idea where they are holing up."

"Okay, so saying I go in and meet this guy, what the hell am I supposed to ask him?"

"Rule one, you don't ask, he asks; you simply nod, keep your eyes down and say, 'Yes, sir' a whole lot. Don't go anywhere with him and don't allow him to buy you a drink."

"Because?"

"According to the profile, he'll slip you a little joy into the mix and you'd be in the back of his van before you had a chance to yell for help," Peter answered.

"Okay, I can do that." Connor nodded. "You still run those infrared wires?"

"I can fix one up, and I can get us access to Leather's to set up surveillance cameras. He's set the time for tomorrow night so you have time to do a little light reading," Peter continued.

"You going to personally coach me, huh?" Connor asked softly.

"Not this time around, Professor."

"So, I take it you go to Leather's often."

"When I want male company I do." Peter smiled enigmatically.

Connor frowned.

~~~~oooOOOooo~~~~

"Okay, we have everything set." Ray opened his folder and read off the details. "We've got the entire bar and private areas wired for vision. Connor's wearing a thermal, as well as one of the new wires, which Jarrod and I will monitor from the van outside. We have two agents who will be inside as well as having all exits covered."

"This is crazy," Lindsay objected. "Come on, you two, you're sending Connor into a gay bar as bait; they'll eat him alive." Lindsay glared at Anton and Ray in turn as Peter entered and put the receiver on Ray's folders, trailed by Connor.

He was dressed simply in dark, tight jeans, a button through dove-gray shirt that clung to the taut stomach, short sleeves that showed a decent amount of muscle and a leather jacket slung over his shoulder. Connor's hair was mussed slightly, making him look ten years younger, and a cigarette was held between his lips.

"Then again, maybe they won't," Peter said softly, drawing all eyes in the room to the man in question. Even through the glass doors, he exuded a vulnerable sensuality that Peter found hard to ignore.

"Jesus, you can't be serious," Lindsay breathed softly, her concern evident.

"Unfortunately, he is." Anton looked grave. "Connor is the Case Manager and it's his right to make this decision, Lindsay. He will be fine."

"Of course, he will be." Peter smiled softly as he sat down and Connor entered the room. "He's got the FBI and the OSIR looking after his six."

"Yeah, and the whole damned gay bar." Lindsay stormed out and Ray smiled.

"Think maybe you finally got to the lady." Ray chuckled at Connor.

"You've got the sensors set up?" Connor asked the retreating group, leaving him alone with Peter.

"Yes, all set up, got agents inside and out, thermal imaging is in place and you're wearing a wire. Besides, you won't be alone."

"I thought you'd be the main voice of dissent."

"Normally, I would be; however, this time I'll be in the bar with you, it's the only choice you have, Connor."

"Wait, are you forbidding me from doing my job?" Doyle narrowed his eyes and Peter just smiled.

"No, I'm forbidding you from getting hurt; the difference may be subtle but there is a difference."

"You said yesterday that you've been to this bar. Any place I should know about?"

"Yeah, there are a couple of private rooms out back. I'd steer clear of them and the toilets. Unless, of course, you want to change the orientation of your sex education."

"I'll pass, thanks." Connor slipped the jacket on.

"You've been in these bars before, haven't you, Connor?" Peter looked down at his hands, concern gnawing in his gut.

"Years ago."

"Well, they don't change. Go to the bar, order mineral water, and sit exactly where he tells you too. He's likely to get fresh with his hands; are you prepared for that?"

"Not completely," Connor admitted.

"If you flinch too much, he'll know you're a plant; you'll have to relax and remember the slave holds the power, the master's power is only there because the slave grants it. The master dictates his desires, and if they match what the bottom wants then they team up; but if it's not what you want, you can walk without any problems. He, on the other hand, won't."

"Because he wants this?"

"By now he'll be dripping in anticipation. Remember, he can pick up a fuck on line in under ten minutes if he's in the mood. He's looking for something more; he needs to fulfill a particular need that is not necessarily something he can get willingly. So, you'll be a rare gem for him."

"So, is he likely to speak the same way as he does on line?"

"More or less; he'll ask you to be his slave, but he will ask. You decide how to play it, if you're uncertain and he wants you, let him pursue you, don't give him too much control, and keep him hungry."

"Okay."

"Scared?" Peter put his hand on Connor's shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Fucking terrified."

"Good, he likes timid."

"Yeah, well..." Connor laughed nervously.

"I'm serious, Connor, if you don't want this thing to blow up in your face you'd better act like a vestal virgin in there."

"Getting protective now, are we?" Connor teased lightly and regretted the words.

"I'll kill anyone who gets too close, Connor," Peter admitted, his gray eyes awash with regret and resignation.

"I don't need a babysitter, Peter; I survived the Navy, remember?" Connor smiled.

"Looking like that, you need a border patrol."

"Peter, is there something else we should be discussing here?" Connor asked as Peter drew next to him on his way out the door.

"Not that I'm aware of," Peter answered, avoiding the dark eyes.

"You're hiding something from me, Peter; something I should know." Connor was so close now that Peter could smell the aftershave and his body tingled with heat.

"Probably," Peter admitted.

"Then tell me." Connor pressed closer.

"When this is over maybe, not before. I have to get the wire ready and change. I'll see you before you go."

"All right." Connor nodded and caught Anton's eye.

"You're sure about this?"

"Not entirely, Anton. I'm more worried about Peter."

"I'm not anymore, Connor. He is too focused to be a cause for concern."

"Somehow that is not inspiring confidence in me."

"You don't like going into gay bars?"

"I have no problem with going into a gay bar, nor do I have a problem being the bait normally."

"But you're not certain you can pull off being a sub?"

"I spent all of last night in a few of the chat rooms, getting used to the culture. It's a little intimidating," Connor admitted.

"Remember, if it gets to be too much pull the pin and walk."

"I'll remember." Connor smiled and took a few moments for himself.

~~oooOOOooo~~~

Peter's chuckle was low and dirty as he watched the evident discomfit in his friend. He was far removed from the urbane, controlled man that graced the hallways of academia and the office. Connor almost fidgeted and Peter frowned. This was becoming way too personal and Connor was teetering dangerously on the edge.

Connor was going over the floor plan of the bar with Jarrod as Axon snagged Anton's arm and pulled him outside.

"A word?"

"Sure, what can I do for you?" Anton smiled as he looked Peter up and down. Soft leather pants, dark shirt, leather dress jacket and boots. He certainly looked the part, in more ways then one.

"In private, Anton?" Peter headed down towards Anton's office and closed the door.

"Okay, so?"

"Connor."

"Worried about him?"

"Normally, no, but he's terrified. I think we should pull the pin." Peter paced.

"I had noticed his level of discomfort."

"Fuck. Anton, he's a walking wreck. He can't go in like that – they'll eat him alive."

"And they won't eat you?" Anton took his glasses off and sat on the edge of the desk as he watched his colleague pace restlessly across the floor.

"Jesus, Anton, I'm no fucking choir boy; and, no, they wouldn't stand a chance with me and you know it. I guess you've always known it, but Connor is walking candy."

"I don't understand the reference."

"Its crude, means that they'll all want to take him for a ride."

"A ride?" Anton frowned.

"You need me to spell it out for you? As in piece of candy, go for a ride, little boy? Got the image now? And they are not talking about bikes."

"Okay, we can pull the pin but I think it really is up to Connor to be in on this. We still have a couple of hours before he's due to meet up with Denisoff, time enough to put an agent in."

"You assess him," Peter shot back hopefully.

"Tell me exactly what he'll be up against, Peter."

"Exactly? He'll go into the bar, he has instructions on where to sit, Denisoff will have cronies in there and they'll keep a watch. A couple might actually approach him first and he'll be expected to wave them off. He'll then make the approach, he'll invade Connor's space, make him uncomfortable, touching with impunity. He may even feel him up, but he won't kiss him, far to intimate and reserved for well-loved and well-protected slaves. He'll treat him like a piece of meat."

"And Connor, who is already on edge, might take his head off." Anton frowned.

"Or other parts of the anatomy, which will do us no good at all." Peter paced again. "I want these bastards, Anton, I mean I really want them. But not at the risk of Connor. I thought he'd cope better with this."

"Actually, so did I; he is very distressed and is trying to keep a lid on it."

"So if he insists on going?"

"I can't stop him. I don't have the control; that comes from Frank, and I doubt he'd pull the pin."

"Because this will make the FBI beholden to us and we can benefit on a funding and information level; yes, I am aware of the politics."

"Aren't we all? However, since Frank lost Curtis in Russia last month I'm certain he won't jeopardize Connor."

"Frank can't stand Connor, Anton, and you know it. It would be like icing for him."

"Unfortunately, I agree; but I don't see how we can settle Connor down without medication."

"I have an idea." Peter pulled out a jet -black hanky and waved it at Anton.

"A blindfold?"

"No, normal run of the mill hanky. Let's see how Connor reacts to my placement of it on his person. If he decks me, well, we'll call it a bust. If he manages to keep his cool…" Peter shrugged.

"I'll go along with this on a couple of conditions. You'll be in there with him; and it's not the bar that worries me, it's after. I doubt he'll cope with the aftershock. So I want you to get him home or safe and drop a couple of Valium into him."

"Sure, I can do that." Peter nodded. "I've taken the precaution of a safe haven if this goes wrong and we need to lay low. I'll give you the address and phone number, but no one else; and call from your cell, okay?"

"Deal."

Peter wrote an address down and waited until Anton called Connor into his office.

"Peter is worried about you," Anton stated without preamble.

"Peter worries about everyone," Connor bit back around a strained smile as Peter folded his arms across his chest.

"No, that's not true, only people I care about," Peter answered. "And you are far too wired to go into a gay bar and not get eaten alive."

"I'll manage, Peter; besides, sooner it's over the better it is."

"Anton and I are discussing the merits of switching you with an agent," Peter pressed.

"I don't remember it being your call." Connor grew very calm.

"Actually, in the hierarchy of things, it is Peter's call. He's got the second chair; and, since Frank is unavailable at a conference, if he can persuade the resident psychiatrist to sign off on it then, yes, he can make the call," Anton interrupted.

"And has he persuaded you?" Connor sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Almost."

Peter stepped forward and withdrew the black hanky and took a long time pushing it into Connor's right back pocket, letting his hand cup the firm behind and lingering. Connor folded his arms.

"Copping a feel?"

"Trust me, if I was, you wouldn't have to ask." Peter smirked and Connor blushed. "See, the deal is this – Denisoff is going to get very handy and I'm not certain you're going to be able to cope with it."

"Ah huh. Anything else I should know?" Connor asked.

"Yeah, sit down." Connor did as he was told and Peter pulled a chair close to him, resting his arm easily across his shoulders, his hand a firm pressure to keep him in place.

"You comfortable?" Connor became very quiet.

"My comfort isn't the issue here, Connor; this is mild compared to what he'll do." And suddenly Peter's personality grew and Connor found it hard to breath, the intimidation was palpable in the small room and he'd done nothing but to change his posture slightly. Connor looked down at his hands and Anton watched closely. Peter slowly withdrew. "Look, we know you're not comfortable with this."

"I'm not uncomfortable with homosexuality, Peter, I'm uncomfortable with being intimidated and not being able to fight back." Connor found his voice.

"Okay, let's try to alter the mindset. There are a lot of people out there that are into heavy BDSM and are not in a same sex relationship. Most of the Doms will have had both so they are not exclusive. This guy is looking for a toy, not a lover; so it's casual. Very, very casual, and in that bar you maintain the control."

Connor nodded.

"No, you're not hearing me. You have the control, there is no need to fight back because if you decide you don't like what you see or what he offers, the rules of the game don't change. You walk and leave him with his balls around his neck. It's psychological, not physical."

Connor relaxed and Anton smiled.

"You're a psych major, Connor. I'm sure you can manipulate his desires against him without him even realizing you're doing it," Anton assured.

"And the bonus is, he is chatty. He wants you; and if you play hard to get, he'll talk. If we get lucky, he might drop a couple of names of his playmates that we can pick him up on," Peter continued.

"But he's going to push the physical boundaries," Connor said softly.

"Yes, he will, and a lot more than I just did. So take a deep breath and tell him hands off if it's too much, but you need to give him some lead in order to corner him."

"So as long as I stay in plain sight, I'm covered." Connor nodded.

"Yes, you are, there will be four agents in the bar. You won't recognize them, but you will see me and I won't let you out of my sight."

"Okay." Connor nodded again, drawing a deep breath and calming his nerves. Anton patted him on the shoulder and left them alone for a moment.

"Do you trust me?" Peter finally asked.

"Completely," Connor answered without hesitation.

"Good, then understand I won't let you leave that bar with anyone other than me."

"Thank you."

"None needed. I need compliance as well, Connor. If I put us in a position where you need to make things look good, you need to relax and follow the lead. Understand?"

"Not completely."

"Well, hopefully, it won't come to that."

"Hopefully," Connor conceded as he stood up. "You want to tell me what the black hanky is for."

"Sure. West Coast bars mainly use it, but it means you're looking for a heavy SM top."

"Oh great, it makes me a target for all the weirdos."

"Hey, most people who enjoy BDSM are not as weird as you might think."

"Like you, for instance?"

"I tried it a couple of times as a top; really wasn't for me, but there are a couple of people on staff who are heavily into it. And, no, I won't tell you who they are." Peter smiled.

"Oh."

Without thinking, Peter stood up and dropped a kiss on the top of Connor's head and reddened when he realized what he had done.

"What was that for?" Connor asked quietly.

"Luck. Now, you're being dropped off a block away from the bar and will walk the rest of the way. I'll arrive on the bike and park at the side; it's right near an exit door. Your tracer is in the back of your watch, has a toggle switch, and a pick up of 5 metres. The guys in the van will filter all background noise. Since I've got a fair idea of where you will be sitting, I've got audio and video feed going to the van, which is parked 2 blocks back."

"And backup in the bar?"

"I'll be the only one you'll recognize; but we have four agents on the inside, eight  
out, and another dozen ready to move on the place within ninety seconds. I've got a safe drop, so if something goes wrong I can get you out, but you will need to play the cover. Think you can do it?" Peter peered intently at the man he thought he knew so well.

"Do my best." Connor smiled.

"You'll be fine. Remember, pull the pin; I don't care if you don't get them to make a buy or take the hook, I want you out, alive and well." Peter tapped him on the nose and stepped away.

"Peter?" Connor called before he had a chance to disappear out of the room.

"Yeah?"

"In case I forget, thanks."

"Not thick on the ground with friends either, Connor. I won't put you at risk."

~~~oooOOOOoooo~~~~

Professor Connor Doyle, multiple Ph.D.'s, Case Manager for the OSIR, ex-navy, thought he'd seen it all in his thirty-six years but walking the last block to the bar gave him a moment's pause.

He was scared; scotch that, he was terrified. His hands shook, his top lip was beaded with sweat, and he couldn't bear the feeling of being so far out of control. But with it came all the other fears. It had been nearly sixteen years since he'd been in a gay bar, and he'd never been into a leather bar. He'd heard stories; and nothing, not even Peter's gentle words or meticulous planning, gave him the courage to continue. He paused and drew another deep breath, fishing in his pocket for the cigarettes he thought he'd ditched years ago. Now, well tonight anyway, it was a way to keep his hands busy without fidgeting like a frightened convent schoolgirl.

Nothing out of the ordinary; if he were in his old power suit, or if he had his team behind him, or… Connor shook his head, could be any number of ifs he realized, all of them as useless as the first. He was still afraid as he pushed his way past the bouncer on the door and into a dim, smoke-filled interior.

To the left, and central to the club, was a large, brushed steel bar with several barmen working overtime. The dance floor was crowded and writhed in an endless mass of leather and denim; the stench of sex and the musk of sweat hung on the air like an eternal orgasm filled with stale ozone. Connor twitched as a hand caressed his ass and continued forward to the bar, ordered the requisite mineral water, and found the table where he was supposed to sit. He waited several moments before walking over, casually observing the inhabitants and kept his eyes down, careful to look no one in the eye too soon.

Here, he was the prey, the one they came to hunt; and, without him, they were useless and empty shells. He wasn't a commodity; he was needed, desired, wanted. All the feeling swelling around him in time with the music as he perched on the seat and drew out another cigarette.

Men came and went from the toilets at the back of the bar, some headed for the upstairs freestanding lounge and yet more began to crowd into the mosh pit in front of the speaker stack. Incongruously, in the farthest corner were pool tables, with men playing in friendly and somewhat intimate games. Connor smiled slightly to himself and whispered, "You getting all of this?" There was a low chuckle from the tiny invisible earphone.

"Yeah, and may I say how sweet you look," Ray teased and Connor felt himself relax visibly.

"Oh, thank you," Connor said softly and felt a hand on his back caress all the way down to his backside, fingers wandering as he looked over his shoulder and didn't recognize the man from the photos; it wasn't Denisoff or his fake ID.

"Move it or lose it." Connor's voice was a soft, seductive whisper.

"Taken?" the man asked, a butch leather queen complete with full body harness and leather cap.

"More or less," Connor answered.

"Pity. If he stands you up -" The man never got to finish as a hand descended on his shoulder and propelled him away.

"I don't stand anyone up, especially someone like this." Densioff was more than Connor had anticipated.

Dark hair that curled into the collar of his finely cut linen shirt, open enough to show a well-muscled physique. Blue eyes the color of sapphire cut through him like a blowtorch.

"Thank you, but I'm waiting for someone," Connor said, keeping his face and voice carefully neutral.

"Oh, but I thought you were a willingslave." Denisoff smiled again, disarmingly urbane and attractive. He exuded an aura of sensuality that Connor was hard pressed to ignore as he sat down.

"You sent me a dud photo." Connor stood up, ready to leave.

"Please. I apologize for the ruse." The voice was cultured, educated and European, a slight intonation that suggested Russian. That wasn't in the file; but, then again, no one had gotten this close to the man.

"And you thought it necessary because…?" Connor was still standing, clearly indicating trust was an important issue for him. For him to submit willingly, the Dom knew he had to have complete trust and he'd blown it. The ruse put Connor in control and he felt more at ease with his role.

"The internet is such an impersonal device, is it not?" Denisoff reached forward and gripped Doyle's hand in his own and guided him back to the chair. "Many times I've been taken advantage of; my photo, as it were, has been over the internet and circulated in less than salubrious situations."

"Go on." Connor dropped his eyes to the hand that held his and the first faint stirrings of fear prickled his skin.

"And often the people I'm to meet have done the same thing to me. So this way we both get to look first before we approach each other. It is fair, yes?"

"I guess," Connor mumbled as he opened the packet of cigarettes and offered one to his companion. Denisoff simply declined but did offer a light and Connor took notice of every movement.

"You will allow me to buy you a drink?" Denisoff asked.

The first test, he was specific when he asked for nondrinkers and boys who were drug free, although it had been many years since Connor considered himself a boy he understood the intimidation that it implied.

"No, thank you, I don't drink." Connor was polite, painfully so, as if he were at his grandfather's knee.

"Good boy," Denisoff approved and Connor stiffened when he caught sight of a familiar shock of gray hair. Peter moved with a feral, sinuous ease, almost gliding to the bar, the touches being largely ignored, and a beer was on the polished steel top before he arrived to order it.

Within seconds, he was approached by a man, mid to late thirties, attractive in an aquiline way. His body was well toned; he was slightly smaller than Peter, and he had light curly hair. Connor watched, almost slack jawed, as, without preamble, Peter approached the man, ran his hand up the side of his face and leaned in for a deep, intimate kiss. He pulled back moments later and smiled, his eyes flicking over to Connor's.

"This is rather exposed. Shall we move?" Denisoff asked quietly, guiding Connor to the back of the bar and into one of the booth tables. The red glass jar, filled with a glowing candle in an attempt to create ambiance, was lost in the dark jungle of scents and tainted leather.

Connor complied almost too willingly as his brain short-circuited for a moment and he remembered the words Peter had spoken earlier. "_Only when I want the company of men._" He understood now and a dozen smaller things clicked into place. Peter and his friend had moved to the dance floor, lips locked the whole way; but instead of a lover's embrace, Peter kept his distance. It was a distance Connor had felt the full glare of lately and he understood why it bothered him so much. Peter was a passionate man; for him to be not invested in the act sent waves of guilt and longing up Connor's spine, and at the same moment a hand settled on his shoulders.

Too heavy to be gentle, holding him firmly in place and squeezing the muscles under his hand, a little too hard to be kind. Connor lowered his eyes instinctively.

"So, boy, have you had a master before?" Denisoff asked and Connor gave his full attention to the dangerous man next to him.

"Yes, sir."

"Indeed, sometime ago I would think."

"Not so distant."

"Does he know you are out looking for a new Master?"

"No, I doubt he'd care."

"I find that hard to believe; someone like you only comes once in a while. A willing slave who will sacrifice himself to my every desire is a rare jewel."

"He probably doesn't even remember my name," Connor pouted softly and the hard hand held him firmer in place.

"I don't have that problem. I remember them all, boy, every single one, every one night stand, every boy, every toy, every moment." Denisoff leaned over and ran his tongue up the side of Connor's face, tasting him as with the fingers of his other hand he traced a pattern up the inside of Connor's thighs. "Do I need to tell you to spread your legs?" Denisoff said almost nastily as his hand gripped Connor's balls and tightened sharply, causing his vision to blur momentarily. He gasped and leaned forward against the table. "Ah, better." And the pain diminished as he spread his legs and allowed the man further access.

"Hands on the table," Denisoff ordered. "Now tell me," he opened the top button of the tight jeans and began to slide the zipper down, "do you enjoy being collared?" His fingers brushed skin; the second test, no underwear, and Denisoff smiled.

"Yes, sir."

"Would you allow me to sacrifice you and worship your body after my friends and I are through with it?"

"I..." Connor stammered, his body rigid with fear as the man crowded the small space, pressing closer, his arousal evident and heavy against his thigh.

"Oh, but you are a sweet boy. I can see you in nothing but a collar, with my cock in your mouth and my whip across your ass." Denisoff pulled Connor free from his jeans and let his hand drop from the shoulder and down onto his chest, tweaking a nipple cruelly. "Would you like that, boy? Would you like to be my fuck toy?"

Connor looked down; his hands on the table, his legs spread wantonly as the relentless hand pumped him to full hardness, and he moaned, his body betraying the turmoil in his mind as his senses reeled.

"Yes, sir," Connor moaned almost breathlessly. He found it hard to breathe but the words sent waves of ice through the heat and he fought the conflicting senses.

"Will you make out a document and give to me everything I desire, obey each letter as it is written without complaint? When I give you to others, will you do me proud?" Denisoff bit hard on his earlobe and pain exploded through his body and he grew, if possible, harder. This was not right, a tiny part of his brain objected at the desire flooding through him, at the dark, sensual voice that dripped into his ear and caressed his soul.

"If that is what is required of me to be yours, then, yes," Connor found his voice, his hands shaking as he gripped the mineral water, the cooling liquid on the outside of the glass giving him an anchor.

"You remind me of another toy I had."

"Did he fulfill your desires, master?" The moniker sitting easily within his speech and Connor unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"To a point. Nick was lovely and sweet but he couldn't stand the full force of my desire. We parted company. But you, I have high hopes for you."

"I will try not to disappoint you," Connor answered softly.

"You have family here?" Denisoff moved his hand away from his cock and into his own pocket, flicking out a knife with a thumbscrew. Connor's body arched back for the touch.

"Yes, sir, but they don't approve of me. I haven't seen them in years."

"Pity. Would you allow me to give you something to heighten the moments we share or would you prefer to do it alone."

"It is up to you, master; whatever you deem most appropriate."

"Really?" Denisoff's face lit up as he ran the blade of the knife though the candle flame, warming it, before flipping it back into his hand and down under the table. "Would you wear my mark?" He asked as he pressed the warmed metal onto the sensitive head and down the length of his cock, the blade safely pointed away as it came to rest under his balls and Connor would have sworn that he'd drawn blood. His body jumped again, adrenaline flowing through him, urging him to move, to run; and still he grew harder, but this time his mind revolted the idea.

"What kind of mark?"

Denisoff brought the knife back up onto the table and showed the blade to Connor, blood holes pierced into the metal of a hand rendered _all seeing eye_. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"Yes," Connor answered and his body lost its urgency; the photos of mutilated bodies swamping his memory as the shivering took over. Uncomprehending, Denisoff smiled indulgently and dropped his fingers back to the rapidly cooling flesh and wiped a bead of precum from the tip and smeared it across Connor's lips.

"I want you," Denisoff said, his pants painfully tight. Connor could feel the staccato rhythm of his heart beating through the turgid organ against his thigh. "But not tonight. You are too special, little one, and I want to make sure I have everything prepared for your adventure."

Connor nodded.

"I will call you in a couple of days, follow my instructions to the letter, slut, and be prepared to stay."

"Yes, sir."

Denisoff leaned over and looked down at Connor's lap, appraising him fully. "It's a pity you're already circumcised. I would have like to have done that for you." He smiled again and licked the ear before biting it none too gently. "Remember, boy, you will do everything I want of you, you will be mine."

"Yes, master, I will be your willing slave." Connor dropped his eyes and felt a hot gush run up through his gut as the man got up and left. He drew several deep breaths to steady himself before he looked around the room in time to see Denisoff leave with several other men, all out of different exits, one with a young dark-haired boy under his arm.

He also saw several men follow, far more than the four Peter told him were in the bar; and his heartbeat stepped up as a big man came and leaned over the table, staring at his naked crotch.

"Pretty," the new guy drawled. And before he even got within breathing distance, a hand appeared around his throat and pulled him bodily back against the table, sending the candle flying. Connor looked up into dark gray eyes as Peter's hand began a slow choke.

"You'd better have a fucking good explanation as to why you're here," Peter hissed nastily to Connor as the man backed against the table whimpered. "And, you, Jack! Fuck off, he's taken."

"Hey, take it easy, Axon; I thought he was fair game."

"No doubt. Hang around and I might let you play with him later." Peter slid into the seat next to Connor and put the single malt down on the table in front of him as the other guy sauntered off.

Peter sighed and looked down. "You might want to do up your fly," he said softly as he wiped his thumb across Connor's mouth, removing the last vestiges of his precum, and wiped it against his jeans. Doyle blushed and began to tremble as his fingers failed to cooperate and a decidedly green pallor crept over his skin. "Drink. Now." Peter snapped; and, too shocked to do anything else, Connor downed the scotch in one hit.

"Thanks," Connor whispered.

"Kay, Ray, got enough?" Peter asked through his own com link.

"Yeah, the knife was a nice touch; enough to pick him up on, he talked about Nick and drugs and sacrifice. We've got probable and his cronies left the bar with a boy. We've got them all in sight."

"Good." Peter sighed and slumped back against the worn leather.

"Hang on, we've got a problem," Ray spoke. "Shit, the alarm at Connor's house has just gone off and you've got a black van parked out the front with your buddy inside. Looks like he's going to make a grab tonight."

Connor's eyes flitted shut and the trembling grew stronger. Instinctively Peter leaned in close, his body heat giving comfort, when the situation could not.

"Lovely; okay, we've got a safe route and a couple of boys in here will give backup. Bring the van around and park it on Hudson at the top end; should give us a three minute start."

"Be there in five. Can you hang that long?"

"We'll try; the fun part is getting Connor out of here in one piece."

"You want backup?"

"Not yet; but the vultures are circling." Peter closed the connection. "Remember what I said about trust, Connor?" Peter whispered. Connor nodded. "Time to put it to the test. Follow the lead, okay?"

Peter grabbed Connor's hair at the back of the neck. The shock, along with what he'd already been through, made him slump like a kitten in the strong grip. His eyes fluttered shut. "You haven't answered me yet, boy!" Peter thundered loud enough for the approaching men to stay their step and listen.

"You left me."

"I left you alone for a week. You don't have the right to go out to play, not unless you want me to cut you loose. Is that what you want? Leave your ass here for the boys to play with?" Peter pushed his face close, more intimidating then Denisoff could ever have been, and Connor felt the first course of hot tears spill down his cheeks.

"No, master; please, no. I'm sorry," Connor begged softly.

"How sorry?" Peter snarled.

"I'll be good, do whatever you want; I didn't think you wanted me anymore." Connor's voice was pitiful.

"Really?" Peter stood up, pulling Connor up by the hair. "And since when do I give you leave to think?"

Connor's legs failed him as he fell into the strong grip and Peter dragged him up against his chest. Lips sought his; and, after a moment of gentle and loving exploration, Peter nipped him hard enough to draw blood that spilt down his chin and the tears barely stemmed were drawn again.

"Please," Connor begged again, totally out of character and out of breath; and the sickening pallor to his skin made Peter worry. The man was terrified and it was taking him all the rest of his strength to give in and let Peter take control.

"Yes, you will." Peter stepped back and, with a hard shove, sent him headfirst through the crowd and to the side door.

He heard a few chuckles around him and another voice that pitied him with a 'poor bastard'. And then the cold night air slapped him hard across the face and the deafening din was shut firmly behind the double steel door. Connor slumped against the wall, his stomach in his throat, as he felt the bile rise. Giving him no time to recover his senses, Peter pulled him up and towards the bike. The big guy, Connor racked his addled brain, Jack; yes, Jack, the one Peter nearly put through the table, met them at the bike and instinctively Connor stepped behind Peter, unable to do more than pray.

"Hey, Jack, you okay?" Peter smiled and the big guy smiled back.

"Yeah, you got a nasty grip and my boy will be asking all sorts of questions if I bruise." Jack smiled. "He okay?"

"No, we've got a tail; wanna play tag?" Peter hopped onto the bike and motioned for Connor to get on behind him.

Sure," Jack nodded. "You going to Macey's?"

"Heading that way; black van, top of Hudson."

"Yeah, I saw Denisoff; you get him this time, Peter. I liked Nicky too, remember?"

"Yes," Peter grabbed him by the front of the leather jacket and kissed him gently on the lips, "I remember." Jack dropped onto his Harley and both engines fired at the same moment.

Connor, for his part, was quiet and curled into Peter's back, his hands clutching with a grim determination through the leather around his waist. Peter looked back into haunted, dark eyes and the tears that still flowed freely.

"Okay?"

Connor nodded.

"Taking a ride; Jack will run shotgun and draw them off. Hold on to me." Connor moved forward and laid his head against Peter's back; the violent trembling continued. "Ten minutes, love; we'll be safe in ten minutes. Can you hold on that long?"

"Yes," Connor choked out as the bikes pulled away from the curb, just as Ray's van blocked the main street entrance, and they took off in the opposite direction.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Boston's streets passed in a blur and, unable to do more than cling to his friend, Connor continued to shake. Withdrawn from the real world, he finally gave up his trust to the man who, so far, had protected him; and that he instinctively knew would when no other could. This man would die to protect him and, as another violent shudder wracked the slender body, Peter frowned.

A black van dogged their movements, but the bike was faster and able to hide; taking back alleys Connor barely knew existed, Peter pushed the machine until the engine screamed its discord.

Jack's Harley circled behind them, cutting in front of the van when it got too close, leading them by sound down false alleys as the ten minutes crawled to fifteen and Connor remembered how to pray.

Another ten minutes and they skidded to an abrupt stop in a side alley; Jack's bike screamed passed them and continued, the black van in hot pursuit as Peter turned off the bike and walked it silently to a double grilled door.

Connor assessed the area as much as he could. He smelt the docks and felt the fresh air against his tortured flesh, and his senses reeled. The door opened as they approached; and, without stopping, Peter ducked inside, Connor still keeping his death-like grip on the other man until the door rang shut. A bright light lit the underground car parking lot.

A man approached and Connor felt the bile rising in his throat again. Seeing the stricken look, Peter pulled off his helmet and spoke softly.

"It's okay, its only Macey. We're safe, Connor, it's all right," Peter crooned as he got off the bike and helped Connor do the same, drawing him against his chest and soothing down the line of taut muscles.

Macey was, well, he was Macey, Richard Charles Mace, or Macey as he was lovingly called. He was mid to late forties, tall, strong and of African descent. Lashes laden with dark mascara highlighted his finely chiseled features, and Peter smiled.

"He okay?" Macey drawled; a gentle southern accent echoed in the hollow space.

"No, I need to get him warm and into bed. Been a rough night," Peter admitted ruefully as he kept his hold on Connor and led the way through to a plushly appointed hallway. Connor frowned. The exterior was dilapidated, the interior that of the Ritz, and he looked up. "Few years ago a group of very wealthy gay businessmen put a private club together; it's very exclusive and known to only a few," Peter spoke.

"You a member?" Connor finally asked, though the shivering had not died down.

"Me?" Peter laughed as he hugged the trembling man closer. "I don't rate, Connor. Macey's an old friend."

"As in he hauled my ass out of trouble and kept me out of jail," Mace added as they got out of the lift on the second floor and were led to a double door. "You must be Connor." Macey finally stopped as he slipped the card through the electronic lock and the door clicked open.

"Sorry. Connor Doyle." Connor extended a hand; and, surprised, Macey shook it and smiled gently.

"No one will get to you here; you know the drill, Peter, state of the art surveillance, emergency switch by the bed for security and police. Scrambled phone line and secure uplink if you need it."

"Thanks. I don't suppose the kitchen is still open?"

"Hmm, yeah, of course." Macey smiled. "And my boy has chicken soup with crackers. I'll send some food up." He patted Peter on the rump and headed off as Axon pulled Connor into the room with him.

He slipped the card into the slot by the door and the lights came up. Elegantly appointed, the two-room suite had a king size bed and lounge with all the modern conveniences. Peter led Connor to the bed and disappeared for a second, the sound of water heralded his return.

"Okay, bath is on; I can actually attest to the quality of it." Peter smiled as he sat on the floor in front of his friend and removed Connor's shoes. Connor looked blankly around him, getting his bearings, and within seconds was up on the move. Sounds of retching echoed in the room as Peter shook his head and followed him into the bathroom. He cupped his forehead in his hand as Connor leaned over the porcelain and rubbed his back.

Connor slid to the seat and dropped his head in his hands as Peter squatted in front of him.

"Okay, talk to me," Peter said gently.

Connor shook his head and refused to look up.

"Not a request; I'll phone Anton and get a retrieval team in to get us out." Peter stood as Connor grasped him by the hand and pulled him back down.

"I'm assuming you don't want me to leave you alone?" Peter asked, quietly tilting the dark head up as shudders wracked his body.

"No." Connor gritted his teeth as the trembling got worse.

"All right then, I want you in that bath right now, Professor; you're freezing and suffering distress."

"Stay?" Connor looked up at the features of his dearest friend, his hand reaching out to skim the side of Peter's face as he curled forward into the strong embrace.

Instinctively, Peter wrapped his arms around Connor and rocked slowly. "I promise I won't leave you. But I need to get you warm, okay?"

Connor nodded into the shoulder and hung on for dear life. "Ah, Connor, you have to move so I can get you into the bath."

Reluctantly, he let go and Peter efficiently stripped him from the clothes; the smell of cigarettes and sweat permeated the air as he all but lifted Doyle into the large tub of hot water. Almost instantly, he relaxed and laid his head back against the rim. "Okay, so I do need to answer the door and let Macey bring us in some food and Anton made me promise that you'd take some Valium; and under, the circumstances, it would be wise." He dropped the two yellow pills into his hand and watched as Connor swallowed them obediently.

Connor just nodded as the shudders in his body abated and he watched Peter leave the bathroom.

~~oooOOOooo~~~

"Hate to be the bearer of bad news," Macey whispered to Peter as he placed the tray on the table.

"Oh, great, we could do with a break tonight, Mace." Peter wiped his hand across his face. "What's up?"

"Got the drum, Denisoff's got a bead on where you're holed up; I'll call security in, but I don't know how long it will be before he makes an entrance."

"Lovely. And I've just drop ten mils of Valium into his system. Which means I'll either have to play for time or get us out of here."

"No car, Peter; I suggest you get on the horn and call your office and get them to back you up."

"Any idea of how they know?" Peter frowned.

"I would think one of their initiates was making a deal close by and saw you disappear in the area. They are circling like buzzards." Macey waved his hands in the air and smiled. "However, first they gotta get in and then they gotta get to you, so I say stay put and call in for backup. Out there, I can't protect you, man. Know that I've got your six here, so chill, okay?"

"Don't like it, but I don't have a choice. How long do you think we have?"

"At a guess, I'd say bout forty-five minutes. Panic switch is by the bed and I've got some clean clothes for Connor. You armed?"

"Unfortunately not." Peter grimaced as he picked up the phone and patched a call through to Ray Donohue.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~~

"So, the good news is that with the exception of Denisoff and two of his cronies, we got the rest of the group and they are singing like canaries." Ray smiled down the phone line.

"And the bad news is that Denisoff and his two cronies are circling the block that I'm holed up in with Connor. And I have no car, only the bike. In Connor's condition, he's not likely to be able to hang on." Peter was calm, almost eerily so.

"What's the security like over there?" Jarrod was businesslike, but his even tone did not hide the strain in his voice.

"You got me on conference, Ray?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, Anton and Jarrod are here as well."

"Good, saves repeating this. Okay, we've got full security, but these guys play hard ball so I'm guessing they won't be much chop for batons. We've probably got no more than thirty minutes before they figure out where Connor is and come running."

"What's Connor's condition?"

"Stressed, bit out of it, which I have to admit, Anton, I don't understand; but with luck I can ask why later. I'd already given him the Valium before I knew we were compromised, so he's not going to be much help if it gets down and dirty."

"All right, I have a squad ETA at fifty minutes, Peter," Jarrod spoke quickly as he took in the situation. "Play for time, you know what these guys want."

"Yes, and they won't be getting it whilst I can walk." There was a quiet menace in Peter's voice that sent shivers down the spines of the men in the room. "Just one other question - they left Leather's with a boy under their arm, he okay?"

"Yes, bit bruised and battered but otherwise whole and alive." Anton smiled despite his misgivings.

"Good, and Jack?"

"Your friend on the bike? Got run off the road and has some nasty tar burns, other than that he's alive and whole as well. Collateral damage is nil so far, Peter; I'd like to keep it that way," Jarrod clipped out.

"So would I. I've got things to take care of here." Again the calmness in Peter's voice made them uneasy.

"You all right?" Anton was forced to ask.

"No, I'm so far left of all right I'm thinking a nervous breakdown would be fun. However, I have to get Connor sorted out. Hurry." Peter put the phone down and turned to stare at the ashen features of his friend.

"Trouble?" Connor trembled lightly.

"Yes. I need you to follow my every request, Connor. Now is not the time to fall apart on me, okay?"

Connor nodded and looked at the clothes on the bed, keenly aware of being naked under the robe.

"They for me?"

"Yes, get dressed and eat."

"We're compromised and you want me to eat supper?" Connor pulled on the track pants and shirt over his suddenly cold skin, slipped his feet into the runners, and headed towards the table.

"Yes. Your reaction to this puzzles me, Connor, although to a larger degree I do understand it. I'm just not used to seeing you so frightened. Care to share?"

"Bad relationship years ago, same trademarks as Denisoff."

"Fuck, I didn't know you were gay."

"I don't flaunt it; besides, I didn't know either until I saw you playing tonsil hockey with another guy tonight." Connor bit into the sandwich and sipped the coffee.

"Yeah, well..." Peter colored slightly as he poured a second cup of coffee for himself.

"What's the situation?" Connor found the room swaying slightly and it became hard to focus.

"Ray and Jarrod rescued the kid they took from the bar, enough evidence to break them all. Denisoff knows this; and, instead of going on the run, has developed an unhealthy fascination with you and is coming to claim his prize," Peter said wearily and watched as Connor shuddered. For all his effort to appear calm, he was still clearly terrified and the drugs were taking effect.

"Lovely," Connor mumbled as he gripped the coffee mug firmly. "We've got backup coming though, haven't we?"

"Yes, we do. Jarrod has a full FBI team on the way and we've also got Ray calling in backup. Macey has secured the building, but his boys here are more used to dealing with pushy pimps and boyfriends."

"Ah, so not quite good enough?" Connor nodded. "It would fit the profile for Denisoff to come looking; he'd believe his only way out is via his cult, so making a final sacrifice makes sense."

"So I'm assuming; however, Connor, truth is that you're not going to be much help if they get here before Jarrod does, which seems likely. There are only three of them, but I need to keep you safe because you won't deal well with what they want."

"You seem sure?" Connor smiled over his coffee.

"I am sure. This is scaring you half to death; you're on the verge of running out of here, and I can't let you out on your own until these bastards are out of the way."

"Do you honestly think I'd leave you alone with them?"

"Connor, you may not have a choice." Peter patted him lightly on the shoulder.

"I always have a choice," Connor shot back.

"Not this time. If I say run, you better run as fast and as hard as you can."

"I won't sacrifice you to them, Peter." Connor wiped furiously at the tear that slid down his face.

"Aw, hell, Connor." Peter wrapped his arms around the trembling man again. "I don't want you to either, but I've got to protect you from them."

"Who's going to protect you?" Connor sniffed once and pushed back from the embrace.

"I can look after myself." Peter smiled. "Besides, I love you."

"Ah, so that's your dirty little secret?" Connor smiled as well.

"Seems like it. I wasn't meaning to ever tell you," Peter admitted as he heard a sound outside and went to investigate.

"Glad you did," Connor mumbled and found it increasingly difficult to focus on the table let alone anything else.

"Fuck!" Peter swore as he backed away from the door. "By the bed, panic switch! Connor! Flick it and open the tracer on your watch! Now, hurry!"

Both tasks were completed with difficulty as the door gave in under the shuddering weight of booted feet. Two men took point in the room as the door splintered and gave up the unequal fight, groaning all the way. Denisoff leaned on the shattered remains of the frame and took off his gloves slowly.

"So, my little whore was a plant," he drawled as he sauntered into the room. The bodies of his henchmen stood blocking the doorway. Connor stood like a rabbit caught in headlights as Peter stood in front of him and blocked him from their view.

"Hello, Nathan." Peter crouched, ready to fight.

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?" Denisoff stayed his step and frowned.

"Only by reputation." Peter retained his calm and exuded an aura of menace. Connor felt himself shrinking from it and crouched back into the corner of the room. Hating the weakness within him, detesting the memories the scenario invoked. The feelings of helplessness and despair, of not being in control; and it flooded into him, leaving him trembling in its wake as he fought them back, his own personal demons, and worried that Peter was biting off more than he could chew. He wouldn't lose him, couldn't lose him. He was all that kept him going at times, the only light; and to know now that perhaps they had a chance together, to lose it would destroy him utterly.

"Ah, yes, I should have remembered; you owned that other little whore, Nick. I watched you in the alley that day when you found him. Touching." Denisoff continued his slow approach, unaware or ignoring the coiled danger in Peter.

The next few moments happened in a blur, Connor saw Denisoff move, saw Peter charge and found that he was still in the corner of the room and Peter was on his knees between two men. Denisoff stood leering over him as he slowly wrapped his belt around Peter's throat and began a slow choke.

Muscles bulged in Peter's neck and shoulders, and a whimper escaped Connor's lips before he could stop it.

"Ah, so you own this one as well?" Denisoff chuckled. "Even better." He released the belt and smiled.

"Enough to know that even you would find no joy in breaking something that's already broken. Look at him, Nathan," Peter gasped from his raw throat and to his utter amazement Denisoff followed his gaze. "Have you ever wondered why you haven't succeeded in your attempts to raise yourself above them?" Peter continued, aware that the quarry was listening intently.

"No doubt you'll give me the benefit of your lofty ideas," Denisoff snarled, but stopped and crouched in front of Peter.

"No doubt. Think about it, you break based on a stereotype thinking your god will be pleased with the sacrifice you're sending him. And he's not, Nathan; you're breaking that which is already broken. You need to send him a new toy, Nathan, one that won't go willingly."

"Like you for instance?"

"I'm certainly not willing," Peter spat at Denisoff and saw the fine edge of insanity creep into the handsome face, twisting the spirit that dwelt in his eyes.

"It makes sense." Denisoff twisted the belt in his hands. "We'll see how long it takes you to break, and when I'm done I'll still play with your toy. Make him subservient to me; keep him chained like a pet. He'd like that." Nathan nodded to the two men and in a moment Peter's shirt was ripped from his body, leaving him naked from the waist up, and Denisoff positioned himself behind the prone man. The belt buckle left dangling at the end of the belt as he strapped the rest of the leather to his hand and looked over his shoulder at Connor. "You should be proud your master would offer himself up for you, whore."

As the belt made first contact with the bare flesh, Peter bit back the scream that formed on his lips and sweat broke out on his skin, unbidden in the cool room. Minutes crawled as the belt struck again and again; each time Peter retreated to a tiny part of his mind. Away from the pain, away from the prying hands that touched him intimately through his clothes.

Instinctively, he knew rather than felt the blood trickle from the multitude of welts and soak into his clothing. Knew that whilst the pain continued Connor was safe, and only that kept him from blacking out as he clung tenaciously to consciousness. As quickly as it began, the pain stopped; and his head was dragged up by a firm hand, the other caressing the side of his face, as he panted heavily.

"Lovely," Nathan purred as he flicked the wicked blade out that so recently had touched Connor. Slowly, he ran the back of it across Peter's chest, stopping to cruelly pinch the sweat soaked chest and nipples. His hand crawled down Peter's body with sickening certainty toward his crotch. A searing pain exploded through his body as his balls were crushed in a giant fist and the first hiss of pain escaped his lips. "Yes, I can feel the power in you and you were right. This is better, much better." Nathan leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips as he was dragged to his feet. Deft fingers undid the clasp on the leather jeans and began to tease the flesh on his waist with nails as Nathan whispered into his ear.

Connor saw a movement out the corner of his eye, unable to break his concentration of the macabre scene that played itself out in front of him. Unwilling to leave Peter alone to the torment, and through his drug fogged brain, he finally found his feet moving his uncoordinated body towards the safety of the door.

"Stop him." Denisoff smiled nastily as he ordered his men into action; and with delight they dropped Peter, only to find the world turn upside down again. More people came in; loud voices that shouted orders as bodies began to be thrown heedless of the outcome on the room.

A gun skittered across the floor and Connor reached out, fingering the safety off as he watched the belt wrap around Peter's throat again, bringing him to his knees. He stood, gun in hand, and aimed.

"Put him down." His voice was lethal; quiet and in complete control.

"And if I don't, whore?" Denisoff pulled on the leash and the room fell silent.

"My name is, Connor," Doyle said slowly. "And if you don't put him down, I will shoot you; now move away."

"No. Not without taking at least part of the prize." With that Denisoff flipped out his knife again and aimed at the carotid artery that bulged in Peter's throat. Too overcome with pain, Peter slumped in the cruel embrace. His hands reached for the belt to pull it away as he slowly lost consciousness. The intention was clear as the knife bit into the flesh and drew a small line of blood that trickled; and in that same moment Connor pulled the trigger, just once. The stench of cordite mixed with frank blood and even the hardened FBI agents in the room staggered back.

Miraculously, Peter pulled the belt from his throat and crawled across the shards of glass and timber that littered the room and pulled Connor into his arms as he rocked slowly and the world faded to gray and then black.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

He felt cool cotton against his skin and tightness around his chest. Sensitive fingers found bandages on his throat and he saw the canula in the back of his hand. Light filtered through the open windows. Connor was curled into an armchair, wrapped in a blanket.

"Hey." Peter blinked when he saw the ashen face staring back at him and frowned. "Hospital?" His throat raw and swollen, all he could manage was a croaked whisper.

"Yes. Been out for nearly three days." Connor rested his elbows on the side of the bed and reached out to gently trace the side of the tired features.

"You okay?" Peter blinked back tears as pain throbbed through his body.

"I'm fine. You've got a few cuts that will scar and the laceration on your throat was superficial. Anton's worried that they may have damaged your kidneys when they put the boot in."

"Don't remember." Peter winced as he tried to roll onto his back.

"Any of it?" Connor helped him move.

"No, all of it, just not specifics like where they hit me." Peter swallowed hard.

"Oh, well. I've called your Dad; you're on sick leave for a couple of weeks. Anton says you'll need a cane and I wasn't sure what you'd want me to do," Connor finished softly as Peter reached out and petted the dark head that rested on the bed.

"You did good, love, don't fret." Peter drifted as the pain warred with his fatigue and he was vaguely aware of Anton's presence.

When he woke again, Connor hadn't moved; neither, it seemed, had he, his hand still firmly placed on the dark head as Connor's eyes flickered in REM sleep. Anton smiled.

"He loves you."

"Yeah, so I'm finding out." Peter smiled despite his discomfort.

"I assume it's mutual?" Anton frowned and looked at the clipboard.

"Fraid so." Peter sighed. "What happened?"

"We broke the back of the cult and rounded up the entire coven, including a startling number of initiates in the private sector communities. They ran a vast network of drug trade throughout a quarter of the US. Connor shot Denisoff when he was about to slit your throat."

"Remember that."

"Connor had a mild breakdown; we had to hospitalize him overnight to stabilize him. He's on stress leave but Frank needs him to organize his files and notes on the case so we can close it. After that, I'm assuming he'll spend some time with his mother in Martha's Vineyard and relax. He's been through a huge trauma."

Peter nodded. "Me?"

"Month's leave, your father will arrive in the next couple of days to take you home. Frank refused to accept your resignation and put you on full pay until you get back."

"If I come back." Peter swallowed again.

"Still considering leaving?" Anton raised an eyebrow. "I can't say I blame you; this was a tough assignment, especially when you have to face down your lover's killer."

"Worked it out, huh? Smart doctor." Peter grimaced.

"Actually, I figured it out sometime ago; but it was none of my business, unless you want to talk about Nick."

"Not especially."

"All right. I guess everything in time, huh?" Anton patted his arm. "You'll need a cane when you leave for a couple of weeks; but since your father's a doctor, I'm sure he'll know what to do. I can't offer any words of advice, Peter, just take it easy and give him a chance."

Connor stirred on the bed.

"Make him go home and get some rest. He hasn't left you since you came in."

Peter carded his hand again through the thick, dark hair, luxuriating in the texture and feel, and found he drifted back into sleep. Too many questions to ask and then there were questions he wasn't prepared to have answered. Later, when he felt better maybe; but, right now, knowing Connor was safe and that the demons had been men all along lifted a weight from his heart and he sighed. Connor rubbed his cheek into his palm and settled back into sleep. Anton was right, everything in time.


End file.
